


Playing with Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Crack Pairings, Multi, Romance, Russia suggests a game and it’s all kinda fucked up, Translation, world meeting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: London. A meeting is held to decide how to write a letter to Japan. Nobody wants to do that, until Russia suggests to play a game and everyone kinda fucks up.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a translation / editing of another fanfiction called The Game which I found on an Italian fanfiction website. I have no way to contact the authors but this fic has such good material it couldn’t be wasted. So here you have it! Enjoy!

Romano kept looking at the tiny yellow post-it attached to the fridge, pure fright in his brown eyes. He recapped fhat amazing day in a couple of seconds.

He had woken up relatively happy, and he kept that mood all day long without any unexpected and annoying visit from Spain. He had also managed to get rid of his own brother who, apparently, had to go out to get some groceries with Germany, leaving him alone and peaceful.

Furthermore, the idea of not having to leave his house in London when the temperature dropped under the zero had made him extremely fond, and he persuaded himself to have hot cocoa and marshmallows for merenda. An hypercaloric hot cocoa with marshmallows ofc, one of those drinks you can taste comfortably laying on the couch, watching the Italian soccer team trying tosnatch a qualification for the Europe Cup.

And it was right in that moment, when he went to take the hot cocoa from the microwave, that the evil post-it catched his attention, and he felt like the whole world had collapsed onto him. He cursed under his teeth: Romano had completely forgotten about that damn day!

And that Spanish bastard had even reminded him about it. A lot.

In the past two months Spain had been calling him almost every week to say that October 22nd the ten main European nations plus America and Canada would’ve had to hold a conference in London to try to fix the recent block of all harbors on behalf of the Asian countries.

Romano stayed still for a bit, staring into the void and the mind filled with so many thoughts crawling one on top of the other. He needed an excuse, a good one. Maybe he could… he could…

The doorbell rang.

Amazing! He would’ve called the others saying that he had an unexpected visitor and he really couldn’t get rid of them. It was perfect: he wouldn’t even have had to lie, and an evening with whoever was on the other side of the door sounded so much better than going outside, in the freezing cold, wasting his precious time with people he couldn’t stand (maybe except for his brother. And Spain, after all. And also Hungary, I mean… that woman was hot).

He got to the door with heavy steps and he was about to turn the doorknob eady to put on his very best fake smile, when an annoying thought infiltrated his mind, forcing him to stop. Yeah, there was a person who could’ve ruined his glory moment, a certain someone who would’ve forced him to attend the conference anyway, but how many chances he had that behind that door he would’ve found… 

“Romano!”.

The Italian pushed away from the doorknob as if it had become hot all of a sudden.

“Romano! It’s me, Spain, I wondered if we could go together to the conference! We kinda have to!”.

Spain, go together, conference, have to, all in the same sentence! That was a nightmare!

“Don’t open the door”, suggested a voice into his head.

“Romano, I know you’re inside!”, shouted Spain banging on the door.

“Run”, said the voice again, “Run very very far away from here”.

“Romano, open the door or I’ll kick the door down!”.

“Oh, come on!”, he thought, “As if he has the courage to kick do-”.

A stronger bang made him scared enough to force him to finally open that damn door: “What the hell do you want, bastard?”.

“Hello to you too, I’m fine, thank you so much for asking. How are you?”, said Spain smiling wide and resting one hand on the door in what seemed not really nonchalance as much as having the possibility to keep it open in case his very irritate friend had decided to shut him out again.

“I was doing just fine before you came to annoy me”.

“I’m so happy to see you too”.

Romano looked at him dead in the eyes before noticing that Spain was trying to take a peek into his house by looking over his shoulder.

“What are you looking at, dumbass?”, said Romano grabbing his chin and forcing him to look elsewhere .

“Well, since you don’t seem really keen to go out of here any soon”, smiled Spain, pointing at the TV, still filling the room with the chants of the people at the stadium, “You could at least invite me in your humble dwelling and offer me something to drink”.

“I wouldn’t do that even if you offered me a million euros, bitch. And also, who the fuck said my house is humble? Mind your own damn business, peasant!”.

“So I have to take that as a yes? You’ll go with me to the conference?”, Spain asked without dropping his usual cheerful attitude, even though Romano, as always, was messing with him more harshly than usual.

“And since when my alternatives are staying here with you or going somewhere else? This is still my property!”.

“Well, you know I’m not very good at lying”, replied Spain totally calm, “If you let me go to the assembly alone I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut and not tell Prussia you’d rather stay home watching the football match instead of helping your peers and, I gotta remind you, your brother”.

“Slimey bastard”, hissed Romano, reaching for his coat and giving the TV one last nostalgic look, “I’m ready. Let’s fuck it up”.


	2. Chapter 1

Canada was walking rather quickly through the rainy streets of London, the hand clenching around his red and white umbrella as he approached one of the tallest building in the financial district. Every time he found himself standing in front of it, he couldn’t help to think about why the hell he kept taking part in those reunions: they forced him to leave his land, they filled him with useless concern leaving him unsatisfied, because nobody really listened to what he had to say.

 

“Oh, you’re so peaceful Canada, you don’t know how it’s like”, they used to say. He shook his head to wash away those thoughts: he already knew he would’ve joined the assembly anyway, so he might as well just enter the damn building.

He opened the big glass front door all fired up, enthusiasm destined to fade as soon as he started walking towards the elevator, because the doorman didn’t even bother welcoming him.

 

He finally reached the third floor, walking through the long corridor, his heart beating fast in his chest and his self security already gone. He faced the door B24, anxiety devouring him from the inside. When he finally decided to enter the first thing he saw was France, comfortably laying on one of the couches at the corners of the wide room, a glass of wine in his hand, and the whole view disturbed him even more.

 

He didn’t have something personal against the French, but that man had a weird power over him. Maybe it was because of his extreme ego, or maybe it was because sometime Canada felt like his eyes were able to strip him naked just by looking at him. France’s deep eyes had a purple hue to them, and he felt like he could somehow see his soul through his body.

 

“Hello, my dear”.

 

“Uhm, hi”, said Canada fixating on the ground and swallowing hard, maybe because he felt France’s piercing stare right on him. All that silence was making him weak in the knees, so he decided to reach the hanger on the other side of the room and take his coat off. At least he had found something to do, as brief as it was. So he started fussing in one of his pockets, a bland attempt at wasting as much time as he possibly could, hoping for the others to get there soon. He felt France’s hand on his shoulder, making him jump and dropping his coat.

 

“Apparently were the first ones. But French and Canadians are known to be always on time, right?”.

 

Canada froze for a second, asking himself where did France find that saying, but he didn’t manage to ask: the other man brought himself in front of him, resting one hand on the wall and an indefinite expression appearing on his face.

 

“And you know what else we’re famous for?”, he asked winking and getting closer to Canada, who had already guessed the answer. France stopped a few centimeters from his face, bringing his left hand up. Canada looked: he was still holding the glass. “Our wine, dear, our wine”.

 

He laughed and backed off while the Canadian thought about something to say; he couldn’t even get a word out of his mouth because in that exact moment the door opened suddenly with a bang and the room was filled with a loud bickering coming from the two new entries, too occupied by their discussion to bother about saying hi to them.

 

“…are you joking, like for real Engla- bro! Dude you’re here!”.

 

America turned over to Canada: his mouth nervously tense relaxed instantly, a bright and sincere smile lighting up his face and, before Canada could thank him at all for interrupting, even if unconsciously, that embarrassing moment, his brother hugged him strongly.

 

“Hi England”.

 

Canada felt his brother’s muscles clenching instantly around him as soon as he heard France’s suave voice addressing the English with particular enthusiasm, and then relaxed again seeing that England didn’t reciprocate, replying only with a cold stare. Canada couldn’t really understand why his brother and England couldn’t just stop talking about the Independence War, or whatever beef they still had with each other. Centuries had passed. And yes, they were being forced by their bosses to kinda get along, but only when it was strictly necessary. The rest of the time they teased each other with venomous words, something that they somehow managed to start doing again in that precise moment.

 

 

///

 

Fast forwarding to two hours later the atmosphere hadn’t changed much, if not for the fact that the sun had set, the eyes had multiplied and now they were staring at each other with annoyance from one side of the oval table to the other, making it clear that nobody actually wanted to be there.

 

“Goddammit Spain, if you even breathe again I swear I’ll cut you!”.

 

“Germany, Germany, look at what I did! Germany look, c’mon Germany! Germany!”,

 

“I brought vodka. That’s all I’m gonna say”.

“Where’s my frying pan? Prussia don’t you dare”.

 

“England what the fuck happened to you? You look busted bro”.

 

Germany took a deep breath. It was time.

 

“STOP IT! RIGHT NOW!”, he shouted with his deep voice, “We’re never gonna write this stupid thing if we keep fighting with each other! I want this to work! This letter is stupidly important you damn idiots”.

 

Letter? Oh yeah, the letter. In all that chaos Canada had almost forgotten the reason why they were all there for and as soon as it crossed his mind, the whole situation felt even more ridiculous. They had to write a letter. Not declaring war, write a damn letter. A simple letter in which they had to tell Japan the problems that they were having after his decision to close his harbors to the western world and ask him, with calm and kindness, to reopen them.

 

It was really that simple.

 

But instead, as soon as they had all sat down at that table, trying to find an agreement on how to better formulate their request in four/five lines, they realized how different their opinions on the matter really were.

 

Russia, for example, convinced that with kindness and good matters they wouldn’t have solved the problem, proposed to threaten Japan, sending a hate message, in which they declared they wanted to get him out of the G8.

 

America, instead, famous for his disregard of diplomacy, suggested to skip greetings and kisses and sending a war declaration, just because. Useless to say that, after he had finished speaking, England started to argue about how stupid he was and how much he lacked any sort of tactic skills, all with a generous dose of sarcasm and shade.

 

The results were, obviously, a total waste of time, a general lowering of their will to live and cooperate and no getting closer to the final solution, which seemed even further away. But the thing that was getting more on Canada’s nerves was the fact that he was very sure he had the only actual good idea in the bunch and he couldn’t find the courage to get up and speak.

 

So, when Hungary, slamming her frying pan on the table, got the attention of everyone on the table ready to enlighten them with a genius plan that would’ve freed all of them from that unbearable situation, Canada found himself truly relieved.

 

“Okay. Seems obvious to me that we are totally unable to cooperate”.

 

“Oh, you say so?”.

 

“Don’t interrupt me Prussia. Dear could you shut him up forever or something? I’m trying to speak”, said Hungary to her husband, and Austria slapped Prussia on the neck right away.

 

“Thank you honey. As I was about to say, since we are too immature to find a common point, I’d suggest we choose one of us to write the letter as they want. We won’t all be happy about the outcome but at least twelve of us won’t have to spend the night here”.

 

“I should do it! I’m the hero here!”.

 

“I’d rather die! I won’t leave the destiny of worldwide economy in the hands of someone who believes in alien invasions”, England grunted.

 

America teased him back: “Oh wait you should do it, but I won’t leave the destiny of worldwide economy in the hands of someone who believes in unicorns and pixies!”.

 

“Don’t worry America, I wouldn’t have volunteered anyway… you know, I’ve got better things to do than spending the night in this cage and, unlike you, I’m not that full of myself. I can live without reminding the whole world every two seconds that I’m the “hero” of the situation”.

 

“Remind? I don’t have to remind anything to-”.

 

Canada rolled his eyes: couldn’t they just go out and argue outside? Hungary’s idea seemed good enough, but everyone had started giving excuses to not be the chosen one, trying to point out why someone else would have been better than themselves.

 

Canada felt his stomach twisting. He wondered why he felt like he already knew how it would’ve ended and pictured himself alone at 3 am in that stupid room, trying to come up with something that didn’t anger Japan so he wouldn’t have caused the Third World War. Yes, Canada was fully convinced that in the end it would’ve been him, or at least he was until Russia decided to take the matter in his own hands, causing the serie of events who would’ve changed them all forever.

 

“Let’s play a game”, he said with his soft yet malicious voice.

 

“A game?”, asked Prussia skeptically.

 

Belarus looked at him with fiery eyes: she obviously adored everything that left her brother’s mouth.

 

“I love games!”, exclaimed Italy enthusiast, “Especially gambling” and high-fived America.

 

Canada turnt around to look at Italy, he almost forgot he was there too. Italy had been too busy doodling on official documents to care about that whole thing, and he had joined the conversation only when things had started to get more interesting. Germany, right besides Italy, rolled his eyes in frustration.

 

“Yeah, we’re gonna play a game. If you lose, you write the letter”.

 

Canada sighed: only that sadic Russian could’ve come up with such a plan.


	3. Chapter 2

“What kind of game?”, Spain asked sincerely invested.

 

Russia let out a soft laugh. They had fallen for it, every single one of them. He finally had control of the situation. Or at least he thought he had. He could’ve manipulate their stupid minds and make them lose, so he wouldn’t have had to spend the night writing that boring diplomatic letter. And, even better, he would’ve had the change to play with their feeling a bit and make them go crazy: that was definitely his favorite hobby.

 

“I’m so happy you asked”, said Russia, “My idea is to play a game of cards. Let me explain: we’ll take a deck of French cards and then we’ll choose a symbol, let’s say clubs, and we’ll put aside the other three and the jollies. We will then have thirteen cards with the same symbol. We’ll mix them and then everyone will take a card. Who will have the king will be able to give an order to the persons with the ace. We will have four points each and every time you won’t obey to the order you will lose one. The first person with zero points will write the letter”.

 

Romano stood up in a flash: “Fuck off, I won’t play along to your perverted games. I have no time to waste, I got a game to watch!”.

 

“The game was over an hour ago”, said Germany.

 

England frowned: “Streaming is a thing”, and stood up as well walking towards the door with Romano.

 

“I almost forgot”, Russia said.

 

England and Romano freezed instantly.

 

“If you don’t play the game you lose instantly ”.

 

“Sadistic bastard I refuse to submit to your-”.

 

“Hey dude, calm down”, Spain said reaching for Romano’s arm trying to avoid a fight with Russia, who seemed completely unfazed by his threats.

 

“Get off you jerk”, hissed Romano going back to his seat, followed by England.

 

“Well, since we’re all on the same page”, said Russia giving them all a particular look, “Why don’t we start?”, and he started walking towards one of the large and comfy couches, sitting down and asking “Well? It’s gonna be a long night, come on”. Belarus jumped to her feet and ran to her brother who, even though he felt chills down his spine, didn’t bat an eye.

 

Russia didn’t know why, but being close to Belarus spooked him as nothing else could. He had killed men, fought tens of wars, took part in thousands of battles, but he would’ve given up all of his gas and petrol to come back to those bloody times instead of spending one more second besides his sister. Maybe it was because of her icy eyes, or maybe because she spent half of her time trying to trick him into marrying her, or maybe, maybe, it was because of that sharp dagger she kept in her garter belt. Anyway, Russia felt incredibly relieved when the others, someone sighing, someone cursing under their breath, followed him to the couches, leaving the big conference table completely empty. His nervousness faded away completely when France, sat in front of him, started mixing the cards, announcing that the game was about to start.

 

The thirteen cards were then left on the low table in the middle, all the nations looking at them with diffidence and hatred, everyone too afraid to draw one. The first one to do so, leaving Russia stoked (he had predicted that Italy would’ve been the first), was Prussia, which looked at every single one of them with pathos and then picked, followed by Hungary and Austria which surely wanted to end his little moment of glory. In a couple of seconds, everyone had picked a card. Russia smiled: so predictable. Playing with their weaknesses was always awesome.

 

“Very well. Look at the cards and show them”, he said peeking at his own: seven. He was out of danger. He could’ve enjoyed the show for that round. He started looking at the others and saw Prussia gulping: he had probably picked the ace. Thought that was confirmed right away when the German found himself having to obey to Hungary’s will.

 

“Let’s see”, she said, loving that game all of a sudden, “Prussia I declare you my slave for a week. For the next seven days you’ll have to obey to me and Austria”.

 

Prussia stood still for a second, thinking about his option, but then he looked at her almost proud: “Well played Hungary”.

 

“I’m only getting started. It’s a yes then?”.

 

“It’s a yes!”, Prussia said vigorously, but Russia thought right away that it was all a way to avoid being the one to write the letter.

 

“Good”, said Hungary laying back on the sofa, quietly squeezing her husband’s hand with hers. She could already sense having Prussia as a personal slave would’ve been so much fun.

 

While Spain collected all the cards, Russia couldn’t help but think about how everyone was already super involved in the game. Yes, he could’ve predicted some kind of enjoyment, but he couldn’t have imagined how into it they were already. It seemed like, deep down, they were all sadistic glory-hungry bastards just like him, and finally it was alla surfacing. Furthermore, they clearly weren’t aware that, while they got off by teasing and punishing each other, they were all contributing to Ivan’s perfect plan to find out every single little weakness they had.

 

“Second hand”, announced Germany sighing and handing them the cards.

 

“King!”, said Spain triumphant, “Who’s pleasure is it?”.

 

Italy turnt to him, showing him the ace with a tiny smile: “‘sup”.

 

Russia glanced at Germany, trying to catch any reaction, but he gave him none. Weird.

 

“Goddammit Italy”, Spain said without losing his charm, “I was aiming for your brother”. Russia could clearly hear Romano grunting and whispering various insults in Sicilian dialect.

 

“Well… could you fetch me some water please?”.

 

“Water?”, asked Russia slightly confused, while Italy went to the minibar on the opposite corner of the room to find a bottle of water.

 

“Yeah, water”, Spain told him calm as ever, “I have no interest in Veneziano, I don’t know what else I could ask”.

 

“Interesting”, Russia whispered, grabbing the deck and mixing it as his thoughts started spiraling again. It really was interesting: he initially assumed everyone would’ve tried to embarass the others or use them at their own advantage, but he had forgot how kind and selfless some of them could be. Spain, for example, he had given up his bloody and cruel past for a simpler life.

 

Russia really couldn’t relate.

 


End file.
